Secrets (Zayn Malik)

Chapter 28

We approach the steps of an old London building, and I'm curious as to what it is. I've lived here my whole life yet, I can't even decipher what's in a building I've passed by so many times. It's hard to see any sign, or address along the wooden exterior due to the lack of lighting and it strains my eyes. Zayn pulls me into an alleyway, as water from old rusted pipes drips beside me and smoke emits from gas lines. I glance around, wondering what he could possibly be showing me in this filthy, abandoned building. As he opens the old wooden door for me, I step inside slowly as I examine the creepy dim hallway. I'm reminded of the jail I visited when I went to go visit Michael for the first, and last, time. The dirt covered tiles, stains on the walls, and flickering dim yellow lights running along the roof.

"It's..nice?" I smile weakly, truthfully wanting to slide out of here as quick as possible.

Zayn smiles, and shakes his head at me. "This isn't it." He takes my hand, but swiftly slides the glove off before entwining our fingers. "That fucking glove was annoying."

"If I get frostbite, I know who to blame."

"I'll be long gone before you can even think about it." He chuckles, and I swat his arm playfully.

He opens a wide steel door, leading to a metal staircase. I tilt my head up, to see just his far we'll go. The staircase reaches the roof, and I glance worriedly at Zayn, hoping we get to stop after about three flights.

"All the way to the top babe." He points up towards the roof, and softly pushes me ahead.

The metal creaks with each cautious step I take, and I constantly stop to give Zayn a pleading look to stop here. He laughs at my exhaustion and sudden paranoia, yet continues to ignore me while pushing me up the stairs.

"Okay stop here!" He says suddenly, as we reach the top of the fourth flight.

I'm panting, and I can't fucking breathe. Maybe he enjoys morning runs, and working out, and staying in shape. I couldn't think of any other lovely fucking reason for him to make me walk a flight of stairs like this. He steps in front of me, but stops to take in my appearance. My skin is shining due to a thin layer of sweat, and my hair is tousled from my fingers constantly brushing it off my face.

"You look wonderful."

"Shut the fuck up." I grumble, glaring straight through him.

He laughs to himself, and leans down to press his lips to my cheek. It's an attempt to lighten my mood, and I'd be lying to myself if I said it didn't work. But the stuffy, warm air in this confining space makes me uncomfortable and I grow impatient.

"I feel like we've been climbing these stairs forever, can we please carry on?" I whine.

"Lighten up." He pats my face, before squeezing my cheek.

I push past him and he stares at me wide-eyed. I feel the familiar feeling of his eyes burning into my skin, and I turn around to find him leaning against the stained brick wall. The smug grin on his face is incredibly hot, and the lighting casts such a dim glow on his face that he looks sexier than usual.

"What?"

"I'm just wondering how you're going to figure your way out of here." He grins, feeling of triumph clear as day.

I pause for a moment to absorb my surroundings. The hallway seems to go on for miles, although not the case at all. Black metal doors run along the walls, and if I didn't know any better I'd say we were in an apartment complex. He approaches me, but continues to walk past as I begin to speak.

"Are we-"

"You figured it out, finally." His voice is so confident, it catches me by surprise.

I love it.

He stops in front of a random black door, and turns to me as I stand behind him. We basically share the same air as he leans in to my ear.

"It's a long story, but I'd like to show you my apartment."

Oh.

Anonymous POV

Tonight was supposed to be a meeting between Zayn and I. Discussions about the plan for the next few weeks were going to take place, and how everything would fall into action. Then again, he's a fucking lovesick boy who's out on a date with a lady I quite frankly, can't stand. Never make fucking plans, because they never work out.

Wailing sirens pass by, as I pull my black hood over my head and lean casually against the abandoned garage. People continue to eye me suspiciously, but I simply return the favor by glaring at them nastily. I bring a cigarette to my lips, let the smoke emit into the air.

I texted Zayn about an hour ago, reminding him of our plans tonight but I've never heard back from him. James called me once tonight, informing me that Zayn was spotted at the ice skating rink with Ella and I swear I felt my blood boil at the thought.

"Hey mate, you alright?" A stranger approaches me, his short brown hair blowing in the wind. He appears so innocent on the eyes, but the arrow tattoos running down his forearm tell me otherwise.

"Yes, I'm fine. Keep walking." I throw my cigarette on the concrete, crushing it beneath my boot.

I would feel guilty, for lashing out against the poor guy but I'm impatient, and fucking pissed off. Maybe I should find the closest pub or strip club to swallow my free time. Drown my anger, and devious motive away with alcohol.

Actions are visible, though motives are secret.- Samuel John